


Five Things That Never Happened to Petunia Dursley

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 Things, Angst, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The things she did and didn't do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Never Happened to Petunia Dursley

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted March 21, 2005.

I.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted, and there was a flurry of cheers and applause at one of the long tables as the small, red-haired girl bounded toward it and grabbed a beaming older girl in an enthusiastic hug.

"We're in the same house, Petunia!" the little girl laughed.

 

II.

She'd never felt so out of place in her life.

The worst part was that they looked so _normal_ once you got past the strange robes and the long sticks they waved about and the strange words they spoke, like _Apparate_ and _Accio_ and _Diagon Alley_. And she still didn't understand why that loud, obnoxious creature of a Best Man insisted on calling Potter "Prongsie." Clearly drunk, the lot of them.

She was going to kill Vernon for dragging her here. She'd been adamant. "You don't know what they're like, Vernon!"

"Met your sister and that Potter, haven't I?" he sniffed.

"But this will be all of their freaky friends. They're just not _like_ us! All that talk of _magic_ —"

"Want to know what all the fuss is about," Vernon grunted. "We're going, Petunia."

He was leaning precariously against the bar now, one hand still clasped around a glass of something called "firewhiskey," to which he'd taken an abrupt and humiliating liking. His trousers were starting to inch down over his arse, already so much bigger than it had been when they'd married less than a year ago. Not that she minded a bit of flesh on a man, but she was beginning to fear that if he got any bigger, she'd be risking suffocation every time he tried to fuck her. Not that _that_ happened very often anymore. Even as she watched, Vernon belched loudly, and the trousers slipped another quarter-inch.

Oh, how she hated him right now.

"Hey, are you all right?" asked a voice next to her ear and, startled, she turned to find one of Potter's friends, the smaller, light-haired one with the round face. He smiled at her, a little nervously. "I wasn't—that is, I don't mean to interrupt, but—I just…thought you looked kind of lonely." He glanced away, then slid his gaze almost timidly back to her, a faint, becoming blush staining his fair cheeks.

She almost snapped at him. She wanted to—relished the thought of rejecting one of Lily's people so blatantly, rather than with the haughty distance she'd practiced all day. But he was the first person, other than Lily, actually to approach her all evening, and there was something almost understanding in his eyes. She sensed that he didn't like feeling alone any more than she did. 

She smiled, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. He scrambled to seat himself in the chair next to hers. "I'm Peter," he said, breathlessly.

"Petunia," she replied, and took his hand when he offered it. He didn't let go.

"I know," he said. "Everyone knows you're Lily's sister." She hardened her gaze and tried to pull her hand away, and he realized his mistake immediately. "I mean—just—beauty must run in the family!" She nearly scowled, but he looked so…earnest. She let her hand remain where it was, and his thumb brushed over her knuckles. "It was nice of Professor Dumbledore to let James and Lily hold the reception here at Hogwarts," he murmured, eyes holding hers. 

She sniffed. "A crumbling old castle."

He frowned a bit, but apparently opted not to say what he'd been thinking. His thumb kept stroking. "Have you seen the rose garden?" he asked, his gaze warm with promise.

She hesitated, glancing over Peter's shoulder at where Vernon still was hunched over the bar, red-faced and pontificating loudly about drill bits, much to the bartender's puzzlement. Lifting her chin, she met Peter's eyes again. "No," she said, "I haven't. Will you show it to me?"

He all but beamed at her, and pressed a fervent, if slightly too wet, kiss to her knuckles. "I'd be pleased to, milady." He stood and offered her his arm, and they walked together out into the night

* * *

Nine months later, there were tidings of great joy in the Dursley household.

 

III.

"Hello, police? Yes, this is Mrs. Petunia Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive….It appears that someone has abandoned a child on my front step….No, I haven't the vaguest idea who could have done such a dreadful thing….You'll send someone over? Splendid. I'll be here."

 

IV.

"Harry, come sit down. There's something I need to talk to you about."

She always found it disconcerting to meet his eyes—such vivid green, Lily's eyes, their grandmother's eyes—and he looked at her with such apprehension. Sometimes she wished he weren't so wary around her, but it was all for the best. Lily had been coddled by their parents, and look what happened to _her_.

The boy sat on the sofa next to her, small fingers plucking at the knee of his trousers. All his clothing sagged on him, she realized, and wondered distantly if perhaps they ought to buy him some new ones. Oh, soon enough he'd be attending Stonewall anyway, and there'd be only uniforms to contend with then.

She took a breath. "I think you're old enough now to know the truth about your parents."

His gaze snapped to hers, eyes widening. "What—what about them?"

She smoothed her skirt along her thighs, breaking eye contact. "Your parents didn't really die in a car accident." She could hear him breathing faster next to her, small, panicky breaths. She hoped he wouldn't hyperventilate—he was such a runty, unhealthy child, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. "James and Lily were killed because they were practicing an evil thing called _magic_."

"Magic?" Harry gasped.

"Yes," Petunia said. "They and their friends fancied themselves 'wizards' and 'witches.' Even went away to school to learn how to do terrible things against the laws of nature."

"But—" Harry struggled to take a breath. "But my parents were good," he whispered, sounding small and broken.

"They were," she allowed, generously, "before the magic got hold of them. Then all they could talk about was spells and potions and strange creatures, and they got caught up in a war."

"A war!"

"Yes, a war. And they were murdered because they practiced magic."

"Murdered!"

She risked a sidelong glance, and saw tears streaming down the boy's cheeks. His chest hitched with sobs. "It's only by the grace of God that you escaped relatively unharmed," she continued, and laid a gentle hand on his forehead. "The only effect on you was this scar."

He turned to her, and she'd never seen so much misery in so small a face. "But why did I live, if they died?"

"Because you weren't old enough to practice magic yet, Harry," she murmured, stroking his hair. "The war only killed people who considered themselves witches and wizards. So you see—if you want to stay alive, you must _never_ try to practice any sort of 'magic.'"

He shook his head, still crying. "No, never!"

"It might be difficult, Harry," she warned. "The people who taught your parents magic—the ones who led them to their deaths—might try to recruit you as well."

"Never!" he sobbed. "Never!"

She pulled him close, absently patting his back while he cried against her chest. She wondered what Vernon and Dudley would like for dinner that night.

 

V.

Harry smiled. "I love you, Aunt Petunia."


End file.
